


Odds 'n Ends

by ScaryScarecrows



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Peaky Blinders, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caw Caw Motherfucker, Feels bucket, Gen, Not a Crossover, One Shot Collection, more of a catch-all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: A one-shot collection for all the things I write that have nowhere else to go.





	1. Slither (Tenth Doctor)

AN: Every so often I'll be struck with an idea for a fandom that I'm in, but don't write for. I'll write it, store it, never look at it again. These are those.

THIS one is for _Doctor Who_ , as a tag for the 'Midnight' episode. Spoilers! ;)

* * *

He can hear himself copying...the thing...but it sounds as though his voice-and everyone else's-is coming from miles underwater. It's cold, so cold, and he can't breathe, can barely think, can only...wait.

Wait and listen to the suggestions that they throw him out of the car, out onto the burning, uninhabitable surface. There'll be no regenerating there, Doctor, just five seconds of unbearable agony and then...whatever comes next. Blackness. Cold. Death.

_So cold..._

He tries to say something, anything, but his voice refuses to work. Invisible claws close none-too-gently around his neck.

_Cold and dark...what d'you think it'll be like, Doctor, when you are no more?_

He tries to summon the mental energy to insist that they're just scared, they won't really throw him out, but is swiftly cut off by the invading consciousness.

So much faith in them...will you still have that faith, even as they open the door and fling you from the safety of the compartment? Will you?

They won't, they're just frightened, they don't really want blood on their hands...why is he being picked up?

_First it'll be you, then the girl, then...oh, perhaps the child. Doesn't that sound fun?_

Rose.

"...his voice!"

The hostess' voice cuts through the water, although the jerky movement does not stop.

"She's stealing his voice!"

Ah, the voice of reason...but not enough...they've stopped. They've stopped and oh _no_...

The invisible claws are yanked away as the door opens. He can breathe again but he can't quite move, not enough to stop her. There's a hideous, primeval shriek and then there's nothing, nothing save the sound of his own heavy breathing.

A voice-his own voice, his for keeps-reaches his ears.

"It's gone, it's gone, it's gone..."

But so is the hostess. What was her name? He can't think. He can't think of anything at all right now.

"It's gone."

THE END

 

 


	2. Midnight Visitor (Bucky Barnes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Winter Soldier but before Civil War-wrote it before I SAW Civil War, so it does not jive. Or maybe it does, who knows, really.
> 
> Oh, Bucky. Just talk to him, it's fine. Being a creeper is not necessary.

Steve Rogers sprawls in a heap of tangled sheets, the one messy thing in an obsessively neat room. He is propped on a small stack of pillows, the only sign that earlier today, he had broken ribs.

Said ribs have been healed for several hours now, but the man on the bed is unaware. His sleep is fitful, but deep enough that he does not wake to the snake-silent opening of the window and the entry of a shadow.

The Soldier

_James_

_Barnes_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

stands motionless by the window, face puzzled. Gone is the incessant buzzing in his skull screaming _MISSION MISSION MISSION_ , but there isn't really a replacement description.

Captain America-no, Rogers-

_Steve?_

twists on the bed and

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

attempts to become one with the curtain. He doesn't wake.

Barnes

_James_

_Bucky?_

has some lingering idea that Rogers

_Steve_

should not be cold. Where this idea has come from is a mystery, but it is persistent and, with long-forgotten muscle memory, he steps over and straightens the mess of blankets out without waking him. There. Better.

What the hell did he do that for? Humph. Everything is upside-down and he's a little bit resentful.

And, admittedly, a little bit grateful. His head still hurts from that last visit to the chair.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and pats...Steve...on the head. Unfortunately, that wakes him. Only a little, but a it's a little too much.

"Nngh..." _GO BACK TO SLEEP, GO BACK TO SLEEP._ "Buck...?"

_ABORT!_

He...well, it's not _fleeing_ as much as it's _tactical retreating_ , but either way the result is the same. He leaves, immediately, before Steve comes to enough to register anything. He should not have come here, this was a terrible idea...

But the annoying knot in his stomach-worry? it must be worry-has loosened. Steve is fine after his little swim in the river

_Stupid punk, never did back down from a fight_

and that's good, for some reason.

That's very good.

THE END

 


	3. Dead (Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a LOT of Sherlock fics, buuut they're all old and most of them are very much 'WTF?' Sherlock's a pain, okay? I love him dearly, I do, but he's just...so...stubborn. Crane can be bribed with murder. Sherlock has to be bribed with GOOD murder, and that's hard. Written during that horribly painful time after Reichenbach. *sobs*

A man walks on the sidewalk with his coat clutched tightly around him. He has been dead for two months, six days, three hours, four minutes and twenty-nine...thirty seconds.

This ridiculous ear-flap-hat prevents anyone from really recognizing him-half a glance isn't enough and besides, he is dead. He jumped from a rooftop in front of so many people and shattered into little pieces on the sidewalk.

Pity he can't forget his best friend,

_only friend_

the way he begged him to _get down from there, Sherlock, it's all right, just please..._

He shakes his head. No. Not now. He can't do this right now.

He never thought it would be this difficult, being dead. No credit cards, no mobile, no nothing. He is a homeless man with the occasional good fortune

_Mycroft Holmes is the name of that_

to get a cup of coffee. He wants to go home now. He wants nothing more than to go home and see John and Mrs Hudson. After they've all attacked him

_John might break my nose for this!_

they'll go out to that Chinese place that stays open til two and then come home and watch crap telly. He never thought he'd miss crap telly.

Soon. But right now he has to find a cheap hotel and procure a cup of coffee.

He hates this. Dead men may tell no tales

_Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_

but Sherlock Holmes would very much like to tell one tale, the tale of a lunatic on a rooftop and of a man that by all rights should not have existed at all.

THE END

 

 

 


	4. Advice (Peaky Blinders)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Tommy is a very bad influence. He should be ashamed of himself. (And isn't, I'm sure. Little shit. Shame Pol's not here, she'd straighten him out.) Warning for corruption of a child, but it's not like she wouldn't have learned eventually. Business is business.
> 
> Technically not an unexplored fandom-Angelique hails from Deal With the Devil-but she's like nine here and I don't intend to go further with her childhood. (Well, not for you lot, anyway.)

Angelique only ever met Thomas Shelby once, when she was nine years old. They'd had to go over for a funeral, and Nana had impressed upon her to keep quiet and well out of the way and _absolutely no backtalk, child_.

She'd heard of him, a bit, before they went over, in the way one hears about distant relatives. Mama said she took after him. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Nana had fussed for a good ten minutes before sending her in there, but Angelique wasn't sure why. Mister Shelby was an old man, confined to bed and everything. She really wasn't looking forward to it-meeting crotchety old relatives was never fun.

He _was_ an old man, looked like a living skeleton. He was tucked up under a mound of blankets and there was a small wastebasket filled with tissues nearby. Angelique didn't see what Mama always said, about her taking after him, until he opened his eyes-piercing blue. Hers.

"Come here."

She didn't want to go there. She wanted to stay by the door.

"Mama says I'm not to talk to strange men."

Okay, so they'd made her go in, they didn't say she had to talk.

The skeletal man laughed- _laughed!_ At _her_!-and pointed to the dresser with a pale, thin finger.

"Bring those, then. Make yourself useful."

Bring what...cigarettes.

"Mister Finn said not to."

" _Mister_ Finn needs a knock to the head." he muttered darkly. "Pay him no mind, bring them here."

She brought them, because Nana might get mad if she made Mister Shelby mad, even if it wasn't her fault. He fished out a match and a cigarette and lit both in three seconds with a practiced flick-flick of the wrist.

"So. You're Marie's girl."

"Yes."

"You'll be taking up the business over there one day."

"I suppose?"

"It's yes or no, girl. Anything less and you won't last a year."

"Yes, then."

"Better." He took a long drag off his cig and leaned back into the pillows. "What have they taught you?"

Huh?

"I-I can read chapter books now, not the little ones either, good ones. For adults, sometimes. And I-"

"No, no." He wasn't laughing, but there was a smile playing in the wrinkles on his face. "That won't get you anywhere in this business. Have they taught you how to make sure people don't sell your secrets to the highest bidder?"

"Murder?"

"You can't kill everyone who works for you."

"Then I don't know."

"Sit down." She sat down in the hard wooden chair near the bed, hands in her lap like Nana always said. "No. You cut their tongue out."

"Can't they write?"

"Fingers are fragile. Crush them with a hammer. It's the talking that's a problem, if they come up with a code."

"But it's messy. I bit my tongue once and it bled everywhere."

Mister Shelby took another drag and blew a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling.

"There's a trick to that. You prop their mouth open so they can't bite you, and then you take a pair of red-hot pincers-they have to be _hot_ , right out of the fire-and you use those to cut through. They're hot, so they'll stop the bleeding right off and it won't be a mess."

That made sense. They never told her these things at home, why didn't they tell her these things?

"Really?"

"Really. And don't sit like that, it's weak."

"How m'I supposed to sit, then?" Was that a _tone_? Maybe. But she was cross, it wasn't on purpose!

"Like you're in charge." He stubbed out the cigarette and closed his eyes again. "Run along now."

She went.

THE END

 


	5. First Meetings (Supernatural)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I do actually have a few Supernatural shots. I think it's like...fic-writer law. Or something. Parker's first name is Grace. Use at your peril.

Their first meeting was a disaster. She'd arrived at Bobby's with her mother, and they'd been there already with Dad. Her mom had gone in, leaving the children to get acquainted.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Awkward silence. Sam peered out from behind his brother, his mouth full of cookie.

"I'm Sam." he announced. "That's Dean."

"I'm Parker."

Dean snorted.

"You're kidding."

She gave him a look that was probably supposed to be scary, but the pigtails and the cartoony frog backpack ruined it.

"I'm not kidding."

"What's that?" He jabbed at the backpack. It was soft and squishy.

"It's Keroppi."

"It looks ridiculous." Hey, it was true.

She adjusted said ridiculous backpack. His only warning after that was Sam's cry of, "Dean!"

Then she sucker-punched him and marched inside. Through the haze of _what just happened?,_ he could hear her informing her mother that the 'freckly one was a big meanie and she wanted to go home _right now'_.

"Dean?"

"Ow."

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Sam stood there, solemnly chewing his cookie. Then, "Maybe you should apologise to the backpack."

* * *

The second time he ran into her, he kept his mouth shut about that stupid backpack.

"Dean."

"Parker."

He hated to admit it, but she...looked good. Pigtails were gone-her hair was short now-but she was still shorter than him.

"I'm sorry about your mom."

She shrugged.

"Thanks."

She was staying with her uncle now. He had to be honest, he didn't like the guy. There something about him he couldn't quite pinpoint...but he wasn't threatening Sammy, so there was nothing he could do about it.

The silence grew awkward again, and they were saved from pleasantries by Sam opening the back door and calling, "COOKIES!"

They didn't move for a minute, but then there was a frantic sprint for the porch. Friendship could wait, there were cookies on the line.

* * *

"The hell was that for!"

"Sorry for saving your life, asshole!"

"I had it!"

"You looked like you were being eaten to me!"

"I was fine!"

"Can't take a little rock salt?"

"Rock salt hurts, dammit!"

"I grazed you, and it hurts less than bite marks."

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome."

Finally. Silence.

THE END

 


	6. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for some e-book I found called The House on the Moor. Not bad. Fairly creepy, actually. And Nathan may or may not be a murderer...anyway, Abigail is his nurse-he's sick. With something. *shrugs* But I have an untreated fluff addiction, so this happened. You should check out the book-it's like, a dollar on Amazon.

"Nathan?" She hoped he was asleep, but she opened the door all the same.

He was not asleep. He was lying in bed, his hair plastered down with sweat and his eyes shiny with fever.

"Nathan." She turned up the lamp a little more. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well, I wouldn't have..."

"Abigail." His voice was cracked and weak. "Thought you weren't comin' back."

"Where'd you get that idea?" She tugged him up enough that he wouldn't choke and poured him out a glass of water. "Take a drink..." He shrank back from her as far as the pillows would allow. "Nathan, for heaven's sake."

"She said you weren't comin' back."

"Who said I wasn't coming back? Come on, take a drink."

He didn't draw back this time, but he only took a tiny sip before melting back down into the mattress.

"She did." He coughed. She wet a cloth and wiped his face and neck. "She said..."

"Shh. You had a bad dream, that's all." He shook his head. "You did, I promise. Come on, take another drink."

He took the glass from her this time and drained it. She rubbed the cloth over his hair and tucked him in.

"Go to sleep. You look exhausted."

He looked at her from under lowered lashes.

"Don't leave."

What was wrong with him? He was never like this, even on his worst days. Was he delirious?

A quick check said that his fever was high but not dangerously so. It had certainly been this high before.

"I won't leave, Nathan." she said. "Go to sleep."

He said nothing else for a long time, and when she looked at him again his breathing was soft and as easy as it ever was. She sighed and settled into the armchair to wait.

At some point after the sun had set, he woke again, coughing weakly. She poured him out a glass of water and sat him up.

"Come on...drink this down."

He took the glass from her, drank half, and dropped back against his pillows.

"Abigail."

"Shh."

"Wha' time s'it?"

"A little after six." she said. "How about some supper?"

"Supper?"

"We've got some bread still, from yesterday, and I think I can manage fried ham."

He shook his head and snuggled down under the blankets again.

"Not tonight, Abigail. Please..."

"All right. Go on back to sleep, then."

He did not speak again for the rest of the night.

THE END

 

 

 


	7. Mykonos (Thor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the upcoming chunk o' stories are actually from a Loki set that decided it wanted to be its own novel and rejected Marvel. You can see what it's becoming in 'Mischief Meets Monster'. Much darker. I like it more. BUT there's a few pieces that don't translate and shouldn't, so they're going here.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from the Fleet Foxes song of the same name-it just fits them so well. This turned out more depressing than I meant it to. You know how it is…you're having a perfectly nice day, then you take a Loki to the Feels. :(

_Thor looks at his little brother and wishes dawn would come faster. Loki will be fine-it looked worse than it really was-but he wants him looked over, just to be sure. Just because_ Loki _said it will be fine does not mean that's the truth. He has a habit of leaving things out, such as, 'I'll be fine…if I'm treated within twelve hours' and 'it's just a scrape…with a poison arrow'._

_Though to be fair, that last had become obvious very quickly, when he passed out mid-step._

_He sighs and resumes petting Loki's hair. He's asleep, he can't complain._

_This is his fault, really. If he'd been quicker, just a second quicker, maybe his brother wouldn't be lying here with his chest torn up by the beast's claws._

_"_ _Stop that."_

_"_ _Go to sleep."_

_"_ _Stop destroying my hair."_

_His duty as an older brother states that he must now ruffle the hair in question, and he does so._

_"_ _Stop it."_

_"_ _Make me."_

_A weak zap hits his thigh and he winces, earning a smug chuckle._

_"_ _I told you."_

_"_ _Don't waste your energy."_

_"_ _I'll be fine."_

_Then why isn't he fine now? He's pale-well, paler than usual-and shivering, which is simply unnatural._

_"_ _Still."_

_Loki sighs and closes his eyes again._

_"_ _If I'm not fine…"_

_"_ _Don't say that."_

_He is ignored._

_"_ _If I'm not fine, you may have the unicorn horn from my room."_

_Thor shakes his head fondly._

_"_ _What about the dragon scale?"_

_"_ _You can't have that."_

_"_ _You won't need it!"_

_"_ _Regardless, no."_

_"_ _Loki…"_

_"_ _Horn or nothing."_

_"_ _Fine."_

* * *

He looks at the unicorn's horn, sitting on the mantelpiece. It would make a fine spear-why Loki never bothered is a mystery.

_"_ _I could have done it, Father!"_

He can't be gone. It simply is not possible. He will not accept it, not until they find proof.

And so the horn stays where it always has, shimmering in the firelight. Thor reaches out to brush his fingers against it, half-expecting to hear his brother hiss, "Don't touch it, you idiot!"

But the hiss doesn't come and he touches it at last.

It's…different…than he thought it would be. Smooth as glass, but it does not _feel_ like glass.

He lets his hand fall.

_Oh, Loki…_

He should go, maybe take a walk or see how his mother is faring. But his limbs do not wish to carry him anywhere and he ends up in the chair by the hearth, head cradled in his hands.

He'd give anything to know _why_.

He'd give _everything_ to have him back.

But there's nothing he can give and here he stays, staring at everything and nothing until tears blur his sight.

_"_ _I only ever wanted to be your equal!"_

_You_ _**were** _ _my equal, Loki. Always._

THE END


	8. Neighbours (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sick friend wanted a laugh and requested the following: 'Loki, in a flat on Midgard, surrounded by neighbours from Hell and unable to do anything about it (injured, hiding, whatever)'.
> 
> Fenrir is explained in 'Mischief Meets Monster', but the short version is that Loki broke the chain, and she is now his bodyguard and friend.

He lay in his bed, wishing he couldn't feel anything.

He hadn't even been doing _that_ much damage-more a little mischief, really. Could he help it that he found it funny to give a little life to that woman's fur coat?

Heh. It had been tenacious-it had survived being run over by a bus, even.

He stretched and promptly regretted it. Surely his spine wasn't _meant_ to sound like that.

_Ohhh._

When he was well, the Man of Iron would pay dearly for blasting him into a concrete wall.

"That was a lovely noise."

"Spare me your sympathies, Fenrir."

There was a low rumbling noise that he suspected was a chuckle. He ignored her and closed his eyes, intending to just have a nice, long rest.

**Thud-crash-motherfucker!**

He looked askance at the door, lip curling into an irritated snarl. He'd hoped the idiot upstairs would not be home for some time. Sadly, the universe had it in for him. _Typical_.

No matter. He'd shared a room with Thor for years, and if he could sleep through _those_ snores, why, he could sleep through anything.

* * *

Come morning, his eyes were red, he felt worse than he had the night before, and he was fairly certain that his face had frozen in an expression of incredulous, exasperated rage.

His night had been far from restful. The thuds of a drunken mortal falling on his face were easily ignored. Not so much the sounds of heavy furniture being shoved across the floor, or some foreign noise that sounded like the screams of a thousand goblins.*

And then had come the booming.

He'd thought, at first, that it was a thunderstorm and had been out of bed and halfway to the window when he realised that it was most certainly not thunder.

"What is that?"

Fenrir had crawled under the bed in hopes of escaping the sound, but judging by the way her ears were plastered to her head it hadn't worked.

"Make it stop."

How? Causing death or even minor injury (mortals could survive the loss of a finger, couldn't they?) would bring the Avengers down on his head, and he had no desire to tangle with them again, not so soon.

He'd settled for pulling the pillow over his head and hoping the fool dropped dead. He wouldn't mind _that_ thump, really.

But there had been no _thump_ of a falling body and now, with the sun streaming through the curtains, he was sorely considering the consequences of going up there and slitting his throat.

No matter. It was silent now, and he would sleep.

* * *

**Knock-knock!**

"Yoo-hoo!"

Reddened eyes flew open and he glared at the door. No. He was not answering, he was not at home.

But whoever was on the other side continued to knock and he finally dragged his bruised body out of bed, pulled on a dressing-gown, and limped to the door.

"What."

"Oh-! Oh, honey, you look a fright, did I wake you?"

He blinked at her. Alice Brooks, the nosey old lady from across the hall, had taken a shine to him. Said something about his resembling her dear, dead Timmy-'died in the war, you know'. He did not know, and he cared even less.

She prattled on, ignoring the steady tightening of his fingers on the door frame.

"I saw you come in last night, you looked _so_ tired, were you mugged, dear? Bend down, let me see that bruise. Anyway, I thought to myself, Alice, I thought, that boy has no one to look after him, not a soul, so…"

If he were to see her lying at the foot of the stairs with a broken hip, he would laugh and walk away.

"Oh, it's not so bad, really, looks _much_ worse than it is. What happened, darling?"

"I took Fenrir for a walk." It was somewhat true. She'd been present, anyway. "Let her off-leash, they didn't realise I had a dog."

"She's not hurt is she?"

"Not at all."

Apart from the bumps and bruises from attacking Thor, but she'd had worse.

"Good to have a big dog to protect you, you look so frail." She patted his uninjured cheek and apparently missed his twitching eye. Frail? _Frail?_ He was _not_ frail, thank you very much! He was a _god_ , for Valhalla's sake! "Take it easy today, I'll bring you some cookies later."

He forced a smile. It may or may not have resembled an angry grimace.

"Thank you."

He shut the door, retreated to his bed, and curled up under the covers. Sleep. At last.

* * *

Loki had chosen this particular flat because the building was spectacularly picky about allowing pets-it taken more than a little…well… _persuasion_ …to get the management to allow Fenrir inside.

The neighbours to the right, however, had smuggled in five horrid little lapdogs, the kind Elven ladies often carried in their sleeves. And they were just as ill-trained as the Elven dogs-the slightest noise incited a chorus of yapping.

"If I catch one running around in the hall, I will eat it and I will not be sorry." Fenrir grumbled from under the bed. "Wouldn't make more than a mouthful, but no matter."

The yapping continued, punctuated by shrieks as little quarrels broke out. He sighed, slid his hand down to pick up a boot, and flung it at the wall.

"Don't be such a bitch!" Ah. The owners were home.

He flung the other boot, just to be contrary, and regretted it when the yapping reached a new pitch.

_Why me?_

* * *

The sun was setting. He'd spent most of the afternoon staring at a strange, dripping patch on the ceiling and wondering if he really wanted to know what it was.

Alice Brooks had indeed brought him cookies-hideous things that went straight into the bin after he bit into one and found that it was raisin. He was now sitting at the table, eating a handful of grapes and coming up with increasingly violent pranks to play on Stark.

Ahh, silence. After this he would bathe and go back to bed, get a good nights' sleep at last.

"FUCKING ALIEN!"

He most certainly did _not_ jump and knock the bowl of grapes onto the carpet. He merely…twitched an eyebrow. Obviously.

He inspected the carpet as though he could see the individual responsible through it. What strange creature lived below him? A madman? He'd never met madmen before, and he didn't really want to remedy that at this time.

Maybe not ever.

Wordless shrieking came from below and he decided that now was as good a time as any to get back under the covers.

He was cold, that was all.

* * *

The screaming stopped, the dogs next door were quiet, and Alice Brooks had not returned to check on him. He'd bathed-everything was healing well, he should be fine by the morning-and settled under the covers for a nice sleep.

_Ahhh._

He was just dozing off, visions of a falling Stark dancing in his head, when there was a noise outside.

**Thud-crash-motherfucker!**

No.

No.

No, _please_ , no, make it stop!

He looked at the stain-had it grown?-and felt his hand gravitate towards his face.

Tomorrow, he would look for a new flat, and when he found one, that idiot up there was going to be dealt with. Painfully.

THE END

*Vacuum. He means the vacuum. What, he can clear dust with a finger snap, he's not bothering with something so pathetic as a vacuum.


	9. Clothes (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're the Asgardian equivalent of like…thirteen/fifteen-that age of bad fashion taste. (I see Loki as going through a Snape-like-phase: black robes, greasy hair, brooding…the works.)
> 
> I'm straight-up SICK: seriously, I can barely talk. So y'all get three stories today. You should hope I'm sick more often.

Fenrir was enjoying a nice lie-in. It was sunny outside, the birds were chirping (noisy little buggers, couldn't they chirp elsewhere?) and no quests for glory were on the agenda today. Perhaps later she'd go for a swim in the pond…or just stay in and sleep. Either one sounded pleasant.

Until a bellow of rage ripped through the castle and a thunderstorm sprang up.

At least the birds were silent now.

There was only one person skilled enough to enrage Thor at this unnatural hour and she groaned and plastered her ears to her skull in hopes of ignoring the problem.

That had never worked before and it didn't work now.

"LOKI!"

Why. Why? It had been such a nice day.

She dragged herself off the bed and padded down the hall. He probably deserved whatever Thor was going to do to him, but he might turn her fur blue-again-if she didn't at least pretend to assist him.

_This is why I never had children, for heaven's sake…foolish pup, would it kill him to wait until lunchtime, I ask you…_

"I solemnly swear that it will wear off in a few hours!"

"I cannot walk around the castle naked, brother!"

She wasn't so sure she wanted to go in now. Perhaps he could fend for himself?

Something shattered against the door. Apparently not.

"What is going on in here?"

Thor's head popped over a screen* on the far side of the room, murder in his eyes.

"Make him fix this."

"What?"

"He is overreacting, it will wear off." Loki came up from behind a chair, hands raised. "I tried to assure him that it would, but he simply refuses to believe me."

"What did you do."

"No matter how many times I tell my brother that his clothing doesn't need to be quite so…tight…he refuses to listen."

"You look like a wraith!" Thor howled from behind the screen. "Look at yourself, brother-it's no wonder that mortals take you for their Grim Reaper."

The black robes were a little ridiculous, she would admit. He insisted that all great sorcerers wore them, and she hadn't the heart to tell him that had gone out of style before she was chained.

"And."

"My clothing will not stay on. The minute I put on my pants, they remove themselves."

"They don't wish to be seen on you, brother, that's all." He ducked as a mug hurtled towards his head. "Either you find something less horrendous to wear, or wait a few hours for it to wear off."

"I have an appointment with Lady Arabella at ten!"

"Dress better."

If looks could kill, Loki would be dead where he stood. As it was, he stepped behind her, his smile flickering a little.

"Loki…"

"Your socks stay on, at least."

Another mug flew through the air at that.

"Fix. This."

"You know, I don't believe I can, there's nothing to be done. My apologies."

And with that, he was out the door and walking quickly down the hall.

"Get back here, brother!"

Well. There went her nice lie-in.

THE END

*It was less a matter of modesty and more a matter of 'annoying little brother'. Make of that what you will.


	10. Poetic Justice (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no way we've seen the last of Odin. Are you kidding? Loki's…disagreement…with him is one of his main driving forces, no way are they offing him off-camera. (On that note, did anyone actually think they were gonna do it? Really? I mean, don't get me wrong, it hurt and it was like, 'no. NO. you can't do this what are you doing fuck you so much!', but then I really thought about it and was like, 'pfft. they're not risking the Wrath of the Fangirls, no way is he dead.')

He's always liked the palace at night, when everyone's abed and he can go where he likes without running into someone. And, lately, without being bowed at or accosted for advice.

He doesn't regret any of it, would do it over in a heartbeat, but sometimes…sometimes he just wants to be alone.

But not tonight. Tonight he has to pay a little visit to the dungeons.

"All-father."

He nods.

"I would speak to a prisoner." Nobody moves. "Alone."

If the request is an odd one, they don't show it and in short order he hears the heavy metal doors close. Just to be sure, he locks them. Can't have them bursting in at the wrong time.

He walks down the hall, glancing occasionally at the other occupants. Most of them have been here for quite some time-one of the exceptions being a Dark Elf that Odin hadn't gotten around to executing before his return. Good. They still have some of the technology, and he would like to know the workings of it.

The cell at the end-his old cell-has one person in it, a scraggly old man, all skin and bone and gnashing teeth. He is a traitor to the throne.

Loki stops in front of this cell, smiles benevolently, and waves a hand. His glamour falls away, as does the one on the man in the cell. Odin now stands before him, furious beyond belief.

"All-father." The smile grows broader. "I hope your accommodations are satisfactory?"

Odin scowls and seems to grow taller and Loki is nearly transported into childhood again.

He doesn't like that, not at all.

"Frigga is no longer here to protect you." Odin growls. "You would do well to remember that."

His smile tightens and oh, it is tempting to smite the old man where he stands, but he can't. He mustn't. That is barbaric.

That is what Odin would do.

"Don't. Mention. Mother."

"Frigga was _not_ your mother." he snaps. "In case that slipped your mind."

_One, two, three, four…_

"I come all the way down here-taking time out of my busy schedule-and you want to argue. I see where Thor gets it, I really do."

He readjusts his grip on Gungnir, feeling it thrumming in his fingers. It doesn't like this-it knows its master is on the other side of the barrier. How very annoying.

"What have you done to Thor."

"Nothing. I allowed him to go to Midgard, as he asked. And I will point out that Asgard is not on fire or falling into the hands of unsavoury characters, in case you were worried."

If looks could kill, the rage in Odin's eye would strike him down where he stands. He's not afraid of the old man, but he is grateful for the barrier. He got the best of him once, relying on shock and exhaustion, but he really isn't sure he could do so twice.

"You are destined to fail, Loki." Odin hisses. "How long can you maintain this? Sooner or later you-"

Loki makes another gesture and Odin drops to his knees, gasping. Much better.

"I fail to see why." he says softly. "As I am here and you…you are in there." He bows, replaces the glamour. "Good night. Pleasant dreams."

He turns, unlocks the door, and walks away.

THE END


	11. Old Tricks (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the incident with the Dwarves, in which Loki got his lips stitched shut.

Lady Sif and the Warriors Three lounged in the common room, laughing and reminiscing about old battles. It was quiet in here, and warm, and as Sif reclined on the couch to polish one of her daggers she honestly couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.

She didn't hear the door open or anybody come in, and Fenrir gave her a nasty shock when she flopped down in front of the fire. Something that large should not have been so silent.

Loki followed her in, pale and shaky-looking but otherwise looking back to his old self. The stitches, she was relieved to see, were gone-either that or he'd covered them with a glamour.

"Loki!"

"Good to see you among the living."

"You look terrible."

He gave them a weak smile-except for Fandral, who got a healthy enough scowl-and settled into his armchair.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged and leaned back, a book in his hand, and she wondered if he could say anything.

"Are you…" She paused, searched for the words she wanted. "Say something."

Fenrir's eyes opened, just to slits, and Sif tried not to look at her. Loki merely blinked, shook his head, and opened his book.

"At least you can't cast any spells on us for a while. Sorry, you know it's true."

He held up a finger-silence, _can't you see I'm trying to read_?, the finger said.

At least, that was what she thought it said, until Fandral pointed at her and shouted, "Sif, your hair!"

Had he learned nothing? Barely out of his sickbed for butchering her hair and _now_ …

"Loki!"

She advanced on him, intending to give him a good shake, and found her path blocked by Fenrir.

"What have you done! What's he done this time?"

"It's…I've never seen anything like it."

He conjured a mirror without looking up and she cringed.

It was intact, at least, but he'd…well…first of all, it was pink. Bright, pink-sapphire-pink. Second of all, he'd done _something_ to it, wound it up so that it resembled one of the beehives in the gardens.

"Fix it!"

Her companions had started to snicker. She couldn't get at him, not without risking a bite, but that didn't mean she couldn't yell at him. And yell she did.

"Loki Odinson, put my hair back the way it was or so help me, I'll-I'll cut your head off during practice and call it an accident!"

He looked at her, all exhausted innocence, and made a gesture that all but screamed, _who, me?_

"I mean it!"

"Sif?" Ah, backup! "Sif, why are you yelling at my brother?"

Backup was blind.

"My hair-"

"Is growing back quite nicely. He has fixed it, at great cost to himself. Let it go."

"But-"

"Enough."

She peeked in the mirror again. He'd put it back the way it was-probably before Thor got there.

"It's all right, Thor." He-! "Truly, I cannot begrudge the Lady Sif for being upset. It was a cruel prank, and one I am deeply sorry for."

"Why are you down here? You should be resting."

"I _am_ resting."

Thor tucked a blanket around him-or tried, anyway, it was more of a cocoon than anything-and felt his forehead.

"I don't like it."

"I've been in bed for a week, brother. I promise to sit very still and read."

The minute Thor wasn't looking, she was going to fling his brother off a mountain.

"Very well. Half an hour, Loki, and if you don't go back to bed I'll tell Mother."

"You have my word."

"Half an hour." Thor said again. "I mean it."

"Of course." He coughed, a forced, fake thing if she'd ever heard one. "Now stop worrying. Fenrir will hold me to it, I assure you."

A glance of mutual dislike was exchanged and Thor finally straightened up.

"Very well."

Thor left and Loki leaned back in his chair again. Once she was sure Thor was out of earshot, she got as close as she dared and hissed, "This isn't over."

"I'm an invalid, Sif, be nice."

"I mean it. One of these days…"

"Don't make me call Thor back. Surely you don't think he'd take kindly to your threatening his poor, helpless baby brother?"

Her fingers itched to strangle him, but Fenrir was watching her through slit eyes again and she doubted she'd get close enough to slap him, let alone kill him.

"Watch it, Sif, Thor will have a cow."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"He wouldn't have believed me!"

True enough. Annoying, but true.

She huffed and retreated to the couch on the far side of the room, guiltily wishing he was still in bed and not causing mischief.

The next target, as it happened, was Volstagg.

He'd been just opening his mouth to bite down on a leg of lamb when it twitched and kicked him in the face. He stared at it for a minute in shock before twisting around to look at Loki.

_"You."_

"What about me?"

He was halfway across the room, shouting something about teaching him not to mess with a man's food, when Thor appeared as if out of nowhere.

"What are you doing?"

"He…"

"Loki?"

"He misaimed when attempting to take a bite and holds me responsible."

"It kicked me in the face!"

Thor sighed and picked up the offending leg.

Absolutely nothing happened.

"Leave my brother alone."

Loki burrowed into his cocoon, coughed again, and closed his eyes.

Sickening.

Thor hadn't been gone five minutes before Fandral let out a very un-masculine squeal and dropped his sword. It hissed and slithered away under the sofa.

"Loki!"

"Fandral, do not make me come in there!"

If looks could kill, Sif thought, Loki would have long since gone to Hel.

"I'd like it back."

"Go and get it."

"It is it poisonous?"

"No." Fandral sighed and stuck his hand under the sofa. "It _is_ venomous*, though. Be careful." He snatched his hand back and stomped over to Sif's corner, muttering darkly under his breath.

Sometime later, Thor returned.

"Everything go well?"

"The change of scenery was very nice indeed. But I'm tired now, I don't know that I can manage the stairs."

"Come on." Thor pulled him up. "Up to bed, you've been down here enough."

"Yes, I quite agree." He swayed and clutched at his brother's arm. "I don't know about the stairs..."

Oh, please. Could he be any more dramatic?

"I will help you with the stairs, brother. Come along."

Once they were well out of earshot, Sif sighed.

"How long do we have to wait before we can kill him?"

THE END

*Yes, there is a difference! Venomous is when it bites or stings, poisonous is when touching or eating is a problem.


	12. Return (Marvel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reaction piece (read: denying what I knew was coming) to the Civil War trailer.

Tony Stark claims that Steve Rogers is so innocent and pure, his mind can't comprehend even the mildest of vulgarities.

Tony Stark is sadly mistaken, but nobody is going to crush his hopes and dreams.

Steve, at this point in time, is coming up with increasingly impressive swears, some of which aren't even on Urban Dictionary yet. (He'll have to poke around on there later, maybe make an entry or two.)

New York is under attack. It's not the first time, it's (probably) not the last time, but _still_. What _is_ it with this city? Does it have a special sign that says 'PLEASE DESTROY'? Or maybe Loki's here for payback. He doesn't know, and he doesn't care.

For the fourth time in ten minutes, he flings his shield at the grey beast a few feet away. He hits her in the chest, sends her flying back into a fire hydrant, which shatters on impact and drenches both her and the surrounding area.

Despite it all, she's back on her feet, eyes red and fixed on him.

"You okay down there, Cap?"

"Uh-huh." She shakes herself off and he looks for something-a fallen pipe, even-to fend her off. "Just-"

He doesn't have time to react before she's lunging at him, limbs stretched out to knock him over. He can feel the heat of her breath against his throat when-

**BANG!**

The wolf flies off to the side with a surprised yelp and rolls over a few times. Steve makes for his shield.

"Thanks, Clint."

"Wasn't me...oh, my god."

"Clint?" No answer. "Clint! Barton! Report!"

Whoever the shooter was, they mean business-a grenade hits the ground between Steve and the wolf and they scatter in opposite directions. When the smoke clears, she's gone, nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously, punk," And Jesus Christ he's not sure whether to laugh or cry tight now. "We need to talk about picking fights you can't win."

THE END


	13. 'Tis But a Scratch (Thor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is safe. Except for Odin, who would not be amused, and Frigga, who isn't buying it. Everyone else is fair game. (Thor invokes Older-Brother-Noogie-Power, though, so it's all right.) Title guess, title guess! If you don't know, you are dead to me.

"How is he?"

"Well enough, my Prince. He is resting now."

Resting or not, Thor pushes the door open. When he heard that there had been an incident with a dragon fledgling, he'd rushed back as fast as he could. He has no idea what to expect-missing limbs, crushed bones, and gaping wounds spring to mind.

Loki lies in bed, pale and still. Agony lines his face even in unconsciousness, and it is impossible to miss the reason why.

A hideous green wound-left open to avoid driving the poison inward-runs from his collarbone on down, vanishing under the thin sheets. Elsewhere, he is scraped and bruised, and a set of tooth marks is visible on his wrist.

_Loki…_

He sinks into the chair at his brother's side, stricken dumb with horror. The scrape looks worse than it is-they've all gotten their share of those-but the bite…the bite will kill him in a matter of days. Why did they not tell him?

He grasps Loki's uninjured hand and presses it to his forehead. Thank the Norns he returned quickly, if he had arrived and Loki had been…

"Th-Thor." He coughs. "You came back."

"Of course I did." He sits up. "Do you need anything? Water, more pillows, anything-you there! Bring me another pillow, this one's too thin!"

"I'm fine." Thor lifts his head and places the new pillow there. His skin is burning beneath his fingers. There isn't much time, he should call Mother… "Thank you."

"Of course, little brother." Loki's eyes flutter shut and he panics. "Wake up!"

"I'm awake." He swallows. "C-come closer, I…"

He coughs again and Thor all but launches himself from the chair to the floor to kneel by his side, as close as possible.

"What do you need?"

"I-I…" He forces his eyes open and brushes warm fingers across his forehead. Thor clasps his hand again. "I can't…"

His eyes close and his fingers go limp in Thor's grip.

"Loki? Loki!" He shakes him. Nothing happens. "No! Wake up, wake up!"

"Prince Thor!" Eir stands at the door, looking scandalised. "He won't be up for that for at least another week!"

"Help him!" he roars. "Wake him up, there must be something…"

She quails, but then her gaze hardens.

"Drop it."

What?

"He's been doing this to every unsuspecting soul…move." She marches over, elbows him out of the way, and gives Loki a not-at-all-gentle clout to the ear. He stares and reaches over to drag her away when the sound of barely supressed laughter reaches his ears.

"I can't help it, Thor, I'm so sorry."

The bite marks vanish, as does the green wound, until all that remains is a handful of cuts and bruises and Loki sits before him, grinning as he's always done when he's pulled off a good prank.

"Loki." he sighs, exasperated. "Why…"

"Are you ever _not_ going to fall for that?"

"You had me worried sick!"

"I noticed." He stretches. "Thank you for the pillow, though."

"Why do you do that to me?"

"I do it to everyone-hey! Be careful, I hovered between life and death for hours!"

"He did nothing of the kind." Eir says. Thor nods and drives his knuckle tighter against his brother's skull.

"I did! I hid it well so as not to frighten Mother, that's all."

"You frightened _me_." he growls. "And I am worse than Mother. I have permission to beat you senseless."

"You'd attack your poor, injured little brother? What kind of monster are you?"

An angry one, but he lets him go and glares as he settles back against the pillow, breathing hard.

"Never frighten me like that again."

"Your face amused me."

He loves Loki, truly he does, but he wouldn't mind if a spell backfired and struck him mute. It wouldn't even need to be permanent. A week would do.

"What happened?"

"A scratch." He unbuttons his shirt to reveal a greenish scratch across his ribs. "Eir loves me so, so she's insisting I stay here for a few days to make sure I'm all right."

"Though I'm tempted to throw you out." she says. "Drink it. And don't you dare spit it out."

The bitter smell is familiar to Thor and he shoots Loki a sympathetic look. When Eir's back is turned, he thrusts the cup at Thor.

"If you loved me, you'd get rid of it."

"Don't make me pour it down your throat."

He drinks it and grimaces.

"You're sure you're not trying to poison me, aren't you?"

"Someday I might. Out you go, Thor. Your brother needs his rest."

So does he, after that. Eighty years off his life, right there.

THE END


	14. Sweet Dreams (Thor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime after The Dark World. Written because I can, and because I needed warm fuzzies. I made the grave mistake of watching The Winter Soldier when I was a weepy, PMSing mess. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES. (On the bright side, I now have a huggable Bucky. Shut up, I was bedridden anyway. Maybe I'll make him a Steve next. :-D)

Thor coughs and rolls over, sticky and hot and miserable. Amora hit him with something that Bruce says mimics influenza. Unpleasant, but supposedly non-fatal.

At least, that was what they thought. Then two days ago the fever spiked and landed him firmly in the medical bay, drifting in and out of lucidity.

They're all outside, conversing in voices meant to be unheard by him but still too loud, too nonstop for him to sleep. There's talk of shouting for Heimdall, of trying to either take him to Asgard or to bring someone to him.

That might be nice. To go home. But Father...he's not himself, Thor's not sure he wants to see him right now. Certainly not in this state.

He must be bad off, though, because Loki's sitting by his bed, has been for ten minutes now. He hasn't spoken, hasn't really moved. He's just sitting there, straight-backed, face lined with worry.

"Loki?" He doesn't mind hallcuinations, not if he gets his brother back for a few minutes. "Loki."

"Thor." The other hallucinations, the singing elephants, did not interact with him. "You look terrible."

He sighs and promptly starts to cough. Loki raises an eyebrow and pours him a glass of water. _Imaginary_ water, Thor reminds himself. Loki's not here. Loki's dead.

"Here."

For imaginary water, it tastes nice. Cool, refreshing. It stops the coughing.

"You are an idiot." Loki informs him. "You know better than to rush a _sorceress._ Don't you?"

Perhaps Loki is here to escort him to Valhalla, and is trying to break the news gently. Well, gently for Loki.

"Mm."

"What am I going to do with you?" But there's a hint of fondness in his voice that hasn't been there for years. "If they split your skull, they would find it empty."

He coughs again and this time it doesn't stop with water. He ends up sitting up, propping himself against the pillows to try and breathe.

"I mean it! All hollow." He raps his knuckles gently on Thor's head. Yes. This is no hallucination, this is an escort.

"Is Mother there?"

"What?"

"Mother." he forces out. "Is she there? With you?"

"No, Thor." His voice is soft again. "She's not with me. Lie back down."

Not there?

"Where are you?"

 _Something_ sparks in his brother's eyes, but it's gone before Thor can figure out what it is.

"I'm not really here." he says. "Lie down."

Sitting up is making his head hurt and he obeys, refusing to blink lest Loki vanish without saying good-bye.

"I'm so sorry, Loki, I'm so sorry-"

"Shut up, you idiot."

No. Even if Loki's not here, he has to say it, has to tell him.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Shut. Up." He silences at that. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

"But you're dead, it's my fault-"

"It's not your fault." he soothes. "Well, mostly, you _did_ drag me along, as usual."

"Forgive me, brother, please-"

"There is nothing to forgive." he soothes, and then Thor _knows_ this isn't Loki, because Loki wouldn't hesitate to blame him for everything. "You need to shut up and go back to sleep." He shakes his head and rolls over. Rolling over, he has discovered, helps clear one side of his nose. "Do not make me force you."

"Not tired."

Loki brings one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, as he always did when Thor was being (to him) spectacularly stupid.

"Sleep, brother."

"Stay." Childish? Perhaps. "Please."

"Oh, very well. Now shut up and sleep, you're annoying."

When Thor wakes a few hours later, his fever is broken and Loki is gone.

THE END


	15. The Wolf and the Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that Bucky is probably a PRO at getting lids off of jars/removing ice cream from the tub. If anyone sees him wandering around, send him straight to me-I have nail polish lids that are giving me trouble and ice cream in my freezer. I promise to return him to Steve. Really. I solemnly swear.
> 
> I just wanted to see what would happen. (I resisted the urge to title this 'Clash of the Titans', don't ask for more.)

Thor's crazy younger (adopted?) brother stands before him, looking at him with contempt.

"Take care of him." he says, voice clipped. The woman in the long coat nods and steps up. "Fifteen minutes."

"Gives me time to get cleaned up."

He leaves and Barnes cracks his neck. He supposes Loki's pet monster is otherwise occupied, and he feels a little guilty that he's going to have to toss this woman around like a rag doll. Doesn't mean he won't do it, but he was raised with some semblance of manners, and his mother and Mrs. Rogers both would have kicked him to the curb if he'd disobeyed the 'don't hit women' rule. Not to mention Steve.

This one's fair game though. She has a sword.

"This doesn't have to hurt." she tells him. "Surrender now and everything will be all right."

"Sorry." he says, not sorry at all. "I'm not the type."

"Shame. I rather liked your face."

Well. At least she's not blind.

He motions for her to take the first hit. It's only fair.

She rolls her shoulders and draws the sword. And then she springs at him.

He brings the arm up and there's a satisfying CLANG! as metal hits metal. A few sparks fly and he grins at his assailant.

"Ow." he deadpans. She snarls at him and pushes back- _hard_.

Okay. She's tried. Now, if she doesn't mind, he has places to be. (If Steve even _thinks_ about going _near_ a plane again, so help him God...)

He shoves her off and makes a grab for her (he needs more bullets...oh, well), but she's quicker than he thought she'd be, and dodges him.

To his surprise, she sheathes the sword and steps back, up onto a car that careened into a fire hydrant about twenty minutes ago.

"Last offer."

He flips her off. She bares her teeth and Barnes gets a look at-are those fangs?-before she jumps from the car-

-and something big and hairy and snarly slams into him and knocks him to the ground.

_Think that was a rib._

He brings the arm up a second before the jaws tear into his throat and she crushes it and shakes her head savagely back and forth. Jolts of electricity shoot up and down the arm and it makes a put-upon whine.

Uh-uh. He is _not_ going to be torn apart, not after all this shit. Not today.

He gets his feet under her ribs, feels a couple of them crack when he kicks her off, and scrambles upright in time to dive behind a car to avoid another lunge. A quick flick of the arm stops the whine, but the jolts continue.

Okay. Pet monster is not otherwise occupied. Good to know these things. And hey, he's a little touched that Loki sent his best soldier to deal with him. Touched and _annoyed_ , because he's out of bullets and no one fucking warned him the thing was a werewolf or whatever.

The car he's hiding behind sinks and he looks up to see the thing grinning at him. Oh. Well. Um.

"Hi."

She snaps at him and he rolls under the car. He hears her climb off, sees grey feet patter around the car. Well, the car's already probably beyond repair. The owners won't mind if he borrows a door.

She tries to worm her way under the car and he shoots the arm out and grabs her lower jaw.

"C'mon." he growls. "You wanna take a bite outta me? C'mere."

He jerks the arm to the side. There's a a _snap_ and the thing yelps, rips out of his hand and backs off, snorting and shaking her head.

Barnes rolls out from under the car and rips the door off. The woman stands on the other side, her jaw at an awkward angle. As he watches, she reaches up and pulls it back into place with an audible _crack*_ before spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"That was not very polite."

He shrugs and grins at her. She glances at the door, raises an eyebrow, and starts towards him.

"Not bad."

Damn right.

He reaches back, feeling for a grenade. He's running short-whatever these things are that Loki's unleashed on the city, they take a lot of firepower to bring down-but he still has a few, plus his knives.

**SHWING!**

He jumps, more reflex than conscious decision, and narrowly avoids a chain knocking his legs out from under him.

**SHWING-CLANG!**

He brings the car door up, the arm whining again in protest, and feels the chain slam against it, the force of the blow leaving a dent.

When she swings it again, he tilts the door enough to snag it and promptly regrets it when she nearly rips it out of his hand.

Almost got it...yes!

The grenade starts beeping at him, warning him to ditch or die, and he waits another second or two before throwing it at her. She rolls to the left just before it hits the ground with a small but satisfying **BOOM!**

The wolf gets to her feet, snarling and shaking dust and debris from her fur. Barnes tests the feel of the door. Yeah, it might be an okay shield, but it feels like it'll give with another few good hits. He's going to have to rush the thing and try not to get bit.

It's good Steve's nowhere to be seen. He'd never hear the end of it. That kid...

She's wary now, not so willing to lunge at him.

"Come on, big girl." he growls. "C'mere."

She snaps at him, but he doesn't miss the flinch or the fact that her head's now cocked to one side.

 _Jaw bothering you?_ he thinks coldly. _Good._

A particularly painful jolt needles deep into his shoulder, loosening his grip on the door. He winces and flexes his fingers around the handle. She snorts and he's pretty sure she's laughing at him.

"Bite me." The instant the words leave his lips he realises what a mistake that was. "Um-"

This time she roars at him and backs up a few paces, hackles raised. She's going to charge him, he can see it in her stance.

He'll just have to charge her first.

That's the plan. What actually happens is that they collide, the wolf trying to climb over the door enough to take his face off and him trying desperately to force her off and land a hit with his knife.

_When I said I'd follow you into the jaws of death, Steve, this is NOT what I meant!_

The door buckles and the arm makes an angry _sizzling_ noise.

That can't be good.

He flips the knife in his hand and rams it between her jaws, feels it dig into the roof of her mouth. Then he forces the arm to push back _hard_ , toppling her to the ground, and throws the door at her.

Despite the fact that there's a knife in her mouth, she dodges the door and snarls at him, but she doesn't come any closer. The arm, now throwing sparks, whines and goes limp, a useless hunk of metal and wires at his side.

Well. Crap.

She changes-well, he blinks and the woman is now where the wolf was-and reaches up to try to get the knife out. Changing only forced it in deeper, however, and she changes back almost immediately. He'd feel a little guilty if she hadn't tried to eat him.

A flash of metal-a pipe?-catches their attention and they both lunge for it. Before either of them can get anywhere, there's a flash of green light and Barnes is flung aside like a rag doll.

"Not your finest moment, old girl." He hates that smug tone, he really does. "You can just lie there and be quiet, I am busy."

He ignores Loki and goes for the pipe again, but this time he ends up being flung into the doorless car. Oww. That hurt.

"And you yell at me for being careless...hold still and try not to bite my hand off." The wolf lets him reach into her mouth and wiggle the knife out with little more than a dejected whimper. "Almost out...there. Hold still."

Barnes crawls out of the car-difficult to do with one arm, actually-in time to see the thing enveloped with green light. Aw, come on, that's not _fair_...

"I changed my mind, he might be useful."

"All that effort and you _changed your mind_ -"

"You survived. A little worse for wear, I'll admit..."

She growls at him and turns to Barnes.

"I'm sure you can find someone else."

"Leave him alone. Come on."

Oh, they're not going _anywhere_ without his say-so. Uh-uh.

"Hey!" He lunges for the pipe again, reaches it this time. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You look terrible."

He shrugs.

"At least I didn't get a knife stuck in my mouth."

Fenrir snarls and moves as though to attack him, but Loki's hand grips her fur and she settles down. A little. She still looks pissed.

"True. Today is your lucky day, Sergeant." He smiles, a touch bitterly. "What is the mortal phrase...ah. Can't kill you, still need you. Try not to die for a little while, hm?"

"I'm not helping you."

"I didn't ask. Farewell."

He lunges forward, the weight of the useless arm threatening to throw him off balance, and they vanish in a flash of green.

Barnes is sure that somewhere in his shattered memories, stranger things have happened.

But he can't remember any.

THE END

*DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME. These two are trained fighters who have dealt with worse.


	16. I Believe I Can Fly (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be a much better webcomic, but I can't draw for shit.

Loki was reading quietly in the garden, enjoying the soft kiss of a cool breeze and the Just Right temperature of a spring day. _Finally_ , no brother, no brother's friends, no annoying servants coming in and out to clean and deliver messages...peace.

He settled further into his chair, the plush cushion molding around his back, and inhaled the scent of flowers and book.

The occasional chirping of birds suddenly gave way to a hideous cacophony and they took flight, showering the surrounding area with loose feather. A second later, there was a _flash_ and a **CRASH!** and an annoyingly jovial, "Brother!"

There was, Loki thought miserably, a certain attraction to being an only child.

"Go away."

"I have been looking all over for you!"

"Unless Asgard is being attacked by frost giants and there is nobody else to stop them, the answer is no."

Thor flopped down in the opposite chair, the (ridiculously short-handled) hammer dropping to the ground beside him.

"You have been moody lately."

"I have not." Irritated? Possibly. But that would be thanks to Father, and his _announcement_ that this _clearly unprepared_ oaf would be king one day. Humph. "What do you want."

"Is it a crime to spend time with my favourite brother?"

"I am your only brother, and I am busy."

He held up his book again.

"I know just the thing to cheer you up!"

That tone always meant something bad was going to happen.

He was proven right a second later when his book was jerked out of his hands. Before he could protest, Thor had slung an arm around him and hauled him up.

"I am not some cringing damsel, unhand me this instant-Thor. Thor, _no_. No, I don't want to-THOR!"

WHOOSH!

It had never occurred to him how fond he truly was of the ground. Once this was over, he was never leaving it again.

"THOR! THIS IS NOT FUN, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!"

"Relax, Loki! Enjoy yourself! Feel the wind on your face!"

Wind? This was not wind. This was a continuous gust of misery and allergens that was destroying his hair and making his eyes water.

"Thor, if you don't put me down this instant I'll-THOR!"

They turned with no warning whatsoever and the ground hurtled towards them at a most alarming rate.

"Thor. Thor, think about this, if you destroy Mother's garden she'll be very upset-Thor. Thor. THOR, STOP RIGHT NOW-"

Plip.

Ground. Ground? Oh, thank the Norns, solid, unmoving ground!

"Wasn't that fun?"

He didn't need a mirror to know his hair was sticking up and that there were several leaves attatched to his tunic. He turned, slowly and deliberately, intending to chew Thor out for that, and found himself unable to find the exact words of rage.

"I-you-ERGH!"

"Loki?"

He made an angry gesture, snatched his book, and stalked off.

He did have to wonder, though, how long it would take his brother to notice the bright pink hair and electric blue beard he was now sporting.

THE END


	17. Mermaids (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asgardian mermaids are terrifying and ugly and look nothing like what we think. But Loki wanted to be mischevious...again.

"Why are we in Midgard again?"

"Thor wanted to impress the mortals."

"Why are we in Midgard again?"

"I want to play a joke on them."

"There it is."

Midgard-this particular bit of it, anyway-is warm and humid and seems to consist of trees and sand and not much else. A crab scuttles by, snapping its claws at her nose as it goes, and Fenrir is reminded that she hates the beach.

"There."

She looks. He's pointing at a shark fin and she knows right now that whatever his 'joke' is, it is a bad idea.

"No."

He ignores her, because he always ignores her, and sends out a pair of green hands. They grasp the shark and tug it to shore, thrashing and snapping all the while.

Once it's within wading distance, he goes to it and makes a few gestures. The shark vanishes in a cloud of green smoke.

"What did you do."

"What a surprise some lucky man is going to-oops."

WHAT. WHAT DID HE MEAN BY 'OOPS'.

"This usually works...this is unfortunate."

She looks.

He's turned the front half of the poor thing into a woman, curvacious and long-haired, but the back half is still all shark. If there were such a thing as a beautiful mermaid, he's made one.

**"What did you do?"**

"I was trying to make it a woman. The spell should wear off by tomorrow night, but I can't figure out what went wrong..."

Before he can puzzle it out, the thing drags itself-herself?-to the water and vanishes. Not ten minutes later, it's washed against a rock as a fishing boat makes its way by.

"Lads! Look 'ere!"

"Now look what you've done."

If she was hoping they could go home, she is sadly mistaken. Loki has sent the green hands back into the water and come up with a clownfish.

"Leave it alone..."

"It wears off."

Whatever. There's no hope for him.

Twenty minutes later, at least five of the things are flipping about in the shallows and he steps back, spreads his arms, and intones, "Be free!"

One-another shark-smacks him with its tail as it makes its way back into the sea. Serves him right.

"Well?"

"Now we sit back and watch the fun." He gestures to the little boat. "This should be interesting..."

THE END


	18. Desperation (Loki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki may not be straight-up 'world domination' at the beginning of 'Thor', but he's still A) a bit of a dick and B) the God of Mischief. Fucking with us mere mortals is the sort of thing he'd probably enjoy. Myth-wise at least, he does like kids-see the incident with a giant (or troll, depending on the translation) for heartwarming proof.

There's a reason nobody prays to Loki for _anything_. It doesn't matter how trivial it is or how desperate you are, asking him for any sort of help will backfire-assuming he pays you any mind at all.

But Vali has hit rock bottom. His wife is gone and his child is dying, and nobody else is answering-not even a sign that 'things will get better'. He's never asked for anything in his life, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a _little_ resentful.

So here he is, veering straight off the 'respectful request' and skipping into 'tearful begging'. This is his last resort.

"Please...I don't know if you can hear me, but I've never asked for anything...anything at all, never...my son-"

The candles blow out.

Vali fumbles for one, intending to relight it, and the room fills with a soft green glow. He turns, slowly, and takes in the figure before him-a tall, slender, perfectly _normal_ -looking man. At least, until he notices the shadow. _That_ is far from normal-it sways and grows and once, quickly enough to Vali might have imagined it, appears as a snarling wolf rather than a man.

"You called." the man says softly. He sounds bored. "What can you possibly want?"

Vali freezes where he is, fingers trembling around the candle, until his brain starts working again and he hastens to kneel.

"M-my lord…I-I wish…my son…"

The shadow cocks its head. The man does not. Vali tears his gaze away from it and looks at the ground instead.

Gathering his courage, he starts again.

"My son is ill."

"I see." Vali knows the sympathies are false-the gods do not care, not really-but it's so _easy_ to imagine otherwise. "And you want me to heal him."

He nods once.

"Please. I have never once asked…nobody else has answered…"

"Is that so?" A smoky green woman with wings bigger than her body falls to the ground under his head and twirls. "How unfortunate."

Vali swallows hard and nods again. Loki hums and makes his way to the other side of the room, to the door that leads to his son. Vali is struck by a quiver of fear-he did not say he would help. What if he harms the boy? Or takes him away?*

"I make no promises." he says seriously. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"A day will come that I need a favor from you. Don't fret; it won't be much. You have my word. That is all I ask, should I be successful."

A favor? That isn't so bad. He can do a favor. _Ten_ favors, even, if that's what it takes.

"Anything."

Loki does not smile, but, in the flickering light, his shadow appears to become a snake.

"We'll see then, won't we?"

And he opens the door. Before Vali can rise, he's stepped in and shut the door behind him.

Very well, then. He can wait. It's no trouble to wait.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and Vali is starting to wonder what's going on when there's a sharp cry.

_WHAT NO_

He's about to rush in there, waiting be damned, when the door opens and Loki glides out.

"I think that should take care of it."

What.

Really?

He's torn between rushing to his son and hugging the man. God. Whatever.

"M-my-"

But he's gone.

The green glow, the dancing pixie, Loki…everything's gone, with no sign that he was here at all.

THE END

*Can't blame the guy for worrying-there is a myth in which Thor takes two kids as payment for a lame goat. (Long story.)


	19. Practice (Loki)

"Need I remind you that I bit off your weaponmaster's hand and ate it?"

"I know, Fen. Be quiet, I need to concentrate."

"Truly, you know that? Because I could do the same to you."

"Mm-hm."

"You seem to forget that I am not a cuddly toy. I could turn on you in a second and tear your throat out."

"That's nice, Fen."

"Can't you practice with your mother?"

"She doesn't want me trying this yet."

"Then maybe you shouldn't."

"It's not that hard. She forgets I'm not an infant, that's all. Now hush."

She huffed at him and wondered why she had agreed to this in the first place. Oh, right, because he'd asked very nicely and brought bacon and implied she was a coward if she didn't. One of these days, _one_ of these days...

Green sparkles fell on her and she sneezed. Then it occurred to her that said sneeze had been...tiny. She glanced at her paws and saw small, white things.

"What am I."

"A rabbit! I knew it wasn't that hard, Mother always worries too much-"

"Then reverse it."

"This is amazing, the possibilities...oh, Norns, the things I could do to _Thor_ -"

"I don't like being a rabbit, fix it."

"I could frame him for things! I wonder if the voice changes if it's a person, though-"

"Loki..."

"Hang on." _Poof!_ "Say something."

The white paws were gone. In their place where pale, spidery hands.

"Am I _you_?"

"Damn, the voice didn't work-hang on, you've got rabbit ears." _Poof!_ "There."

"That's enough now."

He wrinkled his nose and tugged on a strand of hair. She smacked his hand away and was pleased to note that she still had coordination.

"I need a haircut."

"You need to change me back now."

"That's really actually quite scary."

"Then do it."

He shrugged and turned to the large book sitting beside him on the grass. Did this form have knives-it _did_. She drew one, shrugged, and started sawing.

A few minutes later, she'd cut things a bit shorter than she'd meant to, but oh well.

"I think this is the-what did you do to me?"

"Haircut."

"I look awful!"

Served him right for using her as his own personal magic dummy.

"Fix it."

"Ugh, very well...don't move."

More green sparkles fell and when she looked down, her own grey paws looked back at her. Loki blinked and quickly looked away.

**"What."**

"Um...when you...the haircut was permanent."

_What!?_

"Are you serious?"

"No."

That little...ohhh, when she got her jaws on him...

She stood up and he scrambled to his feet, hands held placatingly out in front of him.

"Fen, Fenrir, don't overreact, I was joking-"

"Not funny."

"I am so sorry-"

He took off running. She gave him a few minutes' headstart before going after him.

THE END


	20. Return (Marvel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reaction piece (read: denying what I knew was coming) to the Civil War trailer.

Tony Stark claims that Steve Rogers is so innocent and pure, his mind can't comprehend even the mildest of vulgarities.

Tony Stark is sadly mistaken, but nobody is going to crush his hopes and dreams.

Steve, at this point in time, is coming up with increasingly impressive swears, some of which aren't even on Urban Dictionary yet. (He'll have to poke around on there later, maybe make an entry or two.)

New York is under attack. It's not the first time, it's (probably) not the last time, but _still_. What _is_ it with this city? Does it have a special sign that says 'PLEASE DESTROY'? Or maybe Loki's here for payback. He doesn't know, and he doesn't care.

For the fourth time in ten minutes, he flings his shield at the grey beast a few feet away. He hits her in the chest, sends her flying back into a fire hydrant, which shatters on impact and drenches both her and the surrounding area.

Despite it all, she's back on her feet, eyes red and fixed on him.

"You okay down there, Cap?"

"Uh-huh." She shakes herself off and he looks for something-a fallen pipe, even-to fend her off. "Just-"

He doesn't have time to react before she's lunging at him, limbs stretched out to knock him over. He can feel the heat of her breath against his throat when-

**BANG!**

The wolf flies off to the side with a surprised yelp and rolls over a few times. Steve makes for his shield.

"Thanks, Clint."

"Wasn't me...oh, my god."

"Clint?" No answer. "Clint! Barton! Report!"

Whoever the shooter was, they mean business-a grenade hits the ground between Steve and the wolf and they scatter in opposite directions. When the smoke clears, she's gone, nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously, punk," And Jesus Christ he's not sure whether to laugh or cry tight now. "We need to talk about picking fights you can't win."

THE END


	21. Okay, This Looks Bad (Avengers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t…just…there are no words. But here. Take this.

_“OHHHH say can you SEEEEEEEE-”_

Steve wishes bodily harm on Tony and feels a little guilty as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, resolutely ignoring Natasha’s snickering.

_COME QUICK 4 TH FLOOR BALCONY BRING NY1 U FIND ON THE WAY._

Why? Given that it’s Tony, he probably doesn’t want to know. All the same, Natasha’s gotten a text message too and judging by her confused expression, it’s the same one.

“Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we…”

“Probably.”

They make their way there and Steve has to bite his lip nearly bloody to keep from laughing.

Bucky’s there, and Clint too. They’re sitting on a bench and…well…

There’s no nice way to say it. Clint’s tongue is firmly stuck to Bucky’s arm and both of them are glaring at Tony, who is cackling a safe distance away. Clint glances over at them and cringes.

“Okeh…thith ookth man.”*

Natasha nods.

“I’d punch you if it wouldn’t rip Barton’s tongue off in the process.” Bucky growls at Tony. Clint looks at Bucky in ill-disguised horror.

“Mo, mo, _Mawnes_ -”

“Relax, Barton, I’ll wait ‘til you’re clear before I punch him.”

“Thankth.”

Tony’s cackles give way to brays and he rocks back and forth, hands slapping at his knees.

“Didn’t…think you’d…actually _do_ it!” he chokes, face red. Steve sighs. _Now_ he sees what happened. Tony dared Clint to see if his tongue would stick to Bucky’s arm in the cold. And…well…it’s Clint. Of course he’d see. Probably launched himself over before Bucky could protest and…this happened.

A giggle escapes his lips and Bucky’s glare turns to him.

“Glad to see you’re so amused, Steve.”

“Sorry.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah.”

Tony slumps against the balcony wall and takes one, two, three deep breaths before looking at Clint and starting again. Clint flips him off.

“Thuth uph, Thon-ugh.”

He wipes frantically at a trail of drool and Bucky twists over.

“Stop drooling on my arm.”

Natasha fixes them both with a stare Steve has seen many times on his third-grade teacher, usually when he came in scuffed and bloody _again_. (He would have thought his classmates would learn to stop picking on Linda May, dammit.) The looks says, _‘Really?’_

In this case, she’s got a point.

“Why did you listen to Stark?”

Clint blabs and Bucky tugs at his arm. Clint shuts up immediately.

“I would like to point out that this was done to me. I was not complicit.”

_“Hay!”_

“You leapt at me screaming, ‘caw-caw, motherfucker!’ and glued your tongue to my goddamn arm!”

Tony chokes and clutches at Bruce, gasping out, “Caw…caw…”

Steve wonders if he’ll piss himself or pass out from lack of air. Both seem likely.

Bruce sighs and adjusts his glasses.

“All right, Tony, that’s enough. Let’s get them inside and get Clint’s tongue detached.”

“Rip it out, Barnes.” Natasha says lazily. “He can sign.”

The look Clint gives her is one of utter betrayal. She shrugs and turns around to go back in. She may have a point.

“Minding my own goddamn business, this is bullshit, I really should just rip your tongue out, Barton…”

There’s nothing Steve can say, now, apart from, “Clint, don’t…if Tony says something’s a good idea, it’s not.”

“Hey!”

Bruce smiles, one of the little ones that would be a grin on other people, and moves to help the other two stand up without an accidental tongue-ectomy.

“And what did we learn today?”

“That Stark should sleep with one eye open.” Bucky grumbles. Tony snorts.

“Whatever, Barnes, you love me.”

Clint makes a dejected noise and Bucky pats his head.

“Least you didn’t get it stuck between plates. That’d be awkward. One wrong adjustment…”

Steve really, really hopes JARVIS has footage. He wants to sketch Clint’s horrified expression later.

THE END

 

*Trapped-Clint speak, in order: ‘okay, this looks bad’, ‘no, no, _Barnes-_ ’, ‘thanks’, ‘shut up, Ton-ugh’


End file.
